


Message in a bottle

by BlazingStarInInkyBlackness



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Electrocution, Gunshot Wounds, Hamilton is a little shit, Recovery, Self-Destruction, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-18 12:03:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10616520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness/pseuds/BlazingStarInInkyBlackness
Summary: Hamilton wakes up to Jefferson’s voice, tied up in chains. It is the furthest thing from enjoyable. They’ve been captured by a group of people who are willing to do anything to get information from the two. They’re sure that the hardest part will be to hold out, to wait for Washington to save them.Jefferson slowly realises that recovery might be a lot more difficult.





	1. Injury

**Author's Note:**

> I need to warn that I dunno how graphic this is. I'm really weird when it comes to torture fics where it's all okay as long as they don't lose any body parts (I abhore that) and as long as they'll be able to go back to what they were doing before. So that's what happens here but I don't know. Proceed with caution.  
> Also, there are just so many shameless references to West Wing in this. Go watch the show. It's amazing.

Hamilton was woken by Jefferson’s voice. That was never a good sign.

“Hamilton!” Jefferson hissed. Hamilton kept his eyes closed, more from stubbornness than anything else. Then he felt a sharp kick in his leg. His eyes opened and he glared at Jefferson.

“What the fuck!”

“Shh.” Jefferson whispered.

“Don’t you dare shush me! If you don’t-”

“We’re not safe.”

That made Hamilton shut up. He glanced around and frowned.

“Where are we?” The last thing he remembered was the truck. He and Jefferson had been sniping at each other as the soldiers who were protecting them glanced at each other in pain.

“If I knew that I wouldn’t have fucking woken you up.”

“You must-” Hamilton fell silent as he saw Jefferson move slightly. His wrists were encased in silver handcuffs. There were also handcuffs attached to his ankles. Hamilton looked down at himself and gaped as he saw he was in the same position as Jefferson.

“Have you really only just noticed that?”

“What’s going on?”

“At a guess? I’d say we got kidnapped.”

“But why-” Hamilton paused and Jefferson nodded. “We’re political prisoners.”

“Let’s hope that’s all we turn into.”

After that they lapsed into silence. Hamilton took stock of the scene again. The room was cold, cold enough to make him uncomfortable but then again all cold did. The floor was concrete as were the walls.

“Where do you think we are?” Hamilton asked quietly. Jefferson shrugged.

“Could be anywhere. I don’t know how long we were out for.”

“Why’d they keep us together?” Jefferson paused as if he knew the answer but didn’t want to say it.

“Spit it out Jefferson. If I spent this long listening to your dumb ways about how to run government I can cope with hits.”

“Leverage. Against each other.”

“You mean torture.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Hamilton licked his lips, “fuck.”

“Yeah.”

 

They had no idea how much later it was when more people appeared in the room. Hamilton had just about nodded off to sleep which would be a miracle in any other circumstance. Jefferson had been nodding off as well until the door opened.

Three men walked into the room. Each of them were taller than Hamilton and two were taller than Jefferson. Jefferson decided to dub the other one Short. Hamilton was small even if he tried to deny it.

“Which of you is Alexander Hamilton?”

Jefferson couldn’t quite place the accent. It was thick but it sounded as if it was mangled, as if Short had spent time in multiple countries.

“I am.” Hamilton stated. He stared up at them. Short walked over to him slowly. Hamilton continued to stare with that same steely gaze. Suddenly Short lunged forwards and grabbed Hamilton by the throat. Hamilton began to growl but couldn’t do anything with his hands and feet in cuffs.

“Alexander Hamilton you made these problems.” Short dropped Hamilton who continued to glare up. “You will both pay.”

“What did we do?” Hamilton asked.

“You took funds from my people to finance your pockets. America has ruled my country for too long. You two will become our voices.”

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to help you.”

The slap rang out loudly in the cold room. Hamilton whipped his head back around immediately and continued to glare at the man.

“I didn’t say anything about you having a choice.”

 

When the two men were alone Jefferson laid his head back against the wall.

“Why did you fight back?”

“It’s better this way.”

“What does that mean?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Hamilton curled in on himself slightly as he began to shake. Jefferson watched as Hamilton slowly slipped off to sleep.

 

The next time the men came back there were four of them. Jefferson noticed that Short was back. He decided that now was as good as any to decide on a name for them. Short seemed to be more of a muscle. There was a leader, might as well go for that as a name. He hadn’t said anything, just watched everything.

Jefferson decided that the other two would be called Muscles 1 and Muscles 2. There didn’t seem to be much difference between them.

Leader stood in the doorway and looked at them.

“Hamilton?”

“Here.” Hamilton raised a hand as far as he could with the chains as if he was calling registration. Jefferson shot him a look and Hamilton ignored it.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“I think you’re a joke if you think you’re getting out of here.”

“And why do you think that?”

“Because you’ve got the Secretary of the Treasury in here and the US government doesn’t like when their toys are taken away.”

“I have more than that.”

“Him?” Hamilton snorted. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Boys,” Leader inclined his head to Hamilton who set his features into a mask, “get him ready.”

“Ready for what?” Jefferson asked as Muscles 1 and 2 approached. Hamilton stared up at them as they approached.

Jefferson’s question was answered when one of them punched Hamilton in the face. Hamilton’s head dropped at the suddenness of the blow. He didn’t have enough time to recover from the first blow before one of them grabbed his hair and pushed his head up. Hamilton was still glaring as he was punched in the face again.

“Get off him!” Jefferson shouted. Leader glanced at him but as he did, Hamilton spat. It landed in one of the Muscles’ eyes and he grunted as he wiped it off.

“You’re scum.” Hamilton’s voice was nasal and thick as blood began to pour down his face. For his words he got a kick to the gut which made him lean forwards as much as the chains would allow him. Muscles 2 kicked Hamilton in the face once more before they pulled back.

Hamilton’s face was a bloody mess. One of his eyes were puffed and his nose looked crooked. Leader walked over to him and grabbed his chin. He stared at Hamilton for a long moment before he nodded.

“Get him up.”

Hamilton fought against the grips of Muscles 1 and 2 but he couldn’t do anything to stop them from dragging him upright. Jefferson was screaming at them in the background but that also did nothing.

Hamilton was hauled up before being shoved into a chair at the other end of the room. His feet and arms were tied to the chair despite how much he struggled against them. Leader stared at him for a moment before handing him a newspaper. Jefferson squinted at it to see that it was the day after what he remembered.

It was a hostage picture.

Just as Jefferson realised it Hamilton was punched in the face again which scattered blood across the paper. The picture was taken almost instantly and then Hamilton was led back to his chains. He nearly fell forwards as he was set down. Muscle 1 snorted at that and kicked Hamilton in the side.

“Get away from him!” Jefferson snarled. Hamilton immediately went limp as he was chained up again. His head fell to his chest as if his neck had given out on him. Leader stared at him for a long moment before he turned on his heel and left.

“Hamilton. Hamilton!” Jefferson tried to move forwards but his chains hampered it. “Talk to me!” He couldn’t bare it if Hamilton was gone, if he was alone in the cell. “Talk to me!”

“Never wanted to talk before.”

 “Wh-” Jefferson stuttered as Hamilton lifted his head. He was grinning despite the blood covering his face. “What the fuck Hamilton?”

“I was in the military, remember? I went through torture lessons.”

“So what? You decided to just let them beat you to shit?”

“I can handle this.” Hamilton coughed after he said that and Jefferson saw blood land on the floor. “Don’t get in the way, okay?”

“What?”

“Next time they come in, don’t bring attention to you.”

“Are you honestly telling me to let them torture you?”

“I’m telling you to not let them torture you.”

“You’re an idiot if you think-”

“I know my limits Jefferson. You don’t know yours.” Hamilton’s voice was hard.

“I can deal with pain.”

“With how much? How long would it be until you told them something they wanted to know? Everyone has a limit. They just need to be hurt enough.”

“Well you sound optimistic.” Jefferson sneered out.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don’t know you well enough. I know when I’m about to break and I know how to make sure I don’t break.”

“This is insane.”

“This is war. Stay out of it, alright? If they hit me, if they hurt me in any way, you do nothing, got it?”

“I-”

“You’re not trained for this Jefferson.” Hamilton’s voice was hard. “You have weaknesses that you don’t even know yet.”

“And you don’t?”

“I know my weaknesses. I also know that they’re safe in America.”

“And only your friends will make you give it all up?”

“No. But I know Washington’ll get us out of here before that becomes a problem.” Hamilton stared at Jefferson as if begging him to believe. Jefferson stared at him for a moment before he sighed.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Hamilton lay back against the wall. He really hoped he did as well.

 

The worst bit about being in the room was the boredom. They weren’t exactly known for discussion (that didn’t turn into shouts) and the knowledge of what was outside didn’t help.

“They’re not going to answer a hostage report.” Hamilton piped up. It wasn’t a question, he’d seen this happen enough times.

“No.”

“Washington is safe. If he wasn’t then they wouldn’t bother with us.”

“Probably.”

“He could mobilise the military. He’d just need to figure out where we are.”

“And if we’re worth it.”

The two lapsed into silence again.

“Do you think we’ll get out?” Hamilton asked softly.

“Yes.” Jefferson’s voice was strong and sure. It left no space for fear. Hamilton smiled softly at that.

 

When the men walked back in Hamilton sat up. Muscles 2 (or was it 1?) was missing but Muscles 1 was holding the camera again. Jefferson frowned at that. Did they want a picture of him?

“Cut him loose.” Leader gestured to Jefferson. Hamilton glanced at him in fear but Jefferson just shook his head. Jefferson was hauled to his feet and he stared at the men around him. Leader walked up to him and gripped his chin. Jefferson fought internally against shrugging the man off.

“Thomas Jefferson. A direct descendant of the founding father.”

“Cut from the same fucking cloth.” Hamilton grumbled, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear it. Muscles 1 growled at him but Hamilton just glared up.

“I’ve seen some of your speeches.” Leader continued as if nothing had happened. “Talking about how America needs to weaken itself to stay strong.”

“I support power to the people. Not beaurocrats in Washington.”

“Yeah cause you’ve never benefited off that.”

“You’d do well to keep quiet.” Leader said to Hamilton, barely looking at him.

“You’d do well to not kidnap people.”

Leader looked away from Jefferson, back to Hamilton. Jefferson watched the proceedings with a frown. Hamilton was doing this on purpose, was trying to make the man notice him instead of Jefferson.

“And why shouldn’t I?”

“The law doesn’t quite to agree with you.”

“We make our own laws here.”

“Well that’s going to work great for you in international court. I’d expect-” Hamilton broke off as Leader kicked him in the stomach. Hamilton doubled over and wheezed for breath.

“I’m tired of his talking. Gag him.”

“You’re an idiot if you think Washington won’t do anything about this. You-” Hamilton was cut off again as Muscles 1 grabbed his chin and forced his mouth open. Hamilton fought against it until the man slapped him. Hamilton was dazed for a moment, long enough for the man to shove a bundle of cloth into his mouth.

In lieu of shouting Hamilton just glared daggers at Leader.

“Now then,” Leader turned back to Jefferson, “you really believe in power to the people?”

“I believe that our federal government is too big and that every time a Republican attempts to ease the burden we are made to be the enemies of everything. I think that the government should use less of our money and allow the states to control it instead.”

“You believe a lot of things.”

“I _am_ a politician.”

“Yes, you are.” Leader stared at Jefferson for a moment before he handed Jefferson something. Jefferson stared down at his hands to see a cereal bar. He frowned at the man who just smiled. “I suggest you eat it before we tie you up again.” Jefferson glanced to Hamilton and began to eat the bar. It wasn’t much, not enough to stave off the hunger, but it was something at least.

Jefferson was then led back to his chains and they were secured. Hamilton continued to glare up at the men as Leader walked over to him.

“I do hate to do this but we need something from you.”

Jefferson could almost hear Hamilton’s response, something filled with expletives and anger. The gag in his mouth meant that nothing got out. Leader gestured to Hamilton and both Muscles 1 and Short walked over to him. Hamilton fought as they pulled him upright. They led him to the chair and tied him down again.

Even when he was tied Hamilton didn’t stop fighting. Leader walked over to him and scoffed.

“This is Washington’s right hand man? I’ve heard a lot about you Alexander Hamilton. A fascinating life.” Hamilton stilled at that before he glanced at Jefferson. “Bastard born then orphaned shortly afterwards. Orphaned again when your cousin killed himself. Moved to America, joined the army a year early and made your way up the ranks. Made it to Treasury Secretary somehow. And yet you still oppose immigration.” Leader slowly pulled the gag from Hamilton’s mouth.

“Of course I fucking oppose immigration! I have never fucking opposed immigrants! I oppose the idea that immigration is what we need to cure when what we need to do is to fix the countries the immigrants come from so they don’t have to run for their lives from warlords and pieces of shit like you!” Hamilton was slapped across the face and he did nothing other than glare up at Leader.

“You seem to imagine that what you have done is right. What will your legacy be Hamilton?”

Hamilton didn’t have an answer for that. He just continued to glare at the man. Leader nodded slowly before he glanced up at Muscles 1.

“Get it.”

“Wow. Well that’s fucking sinister. Where’d you get your-” Hamilton was punched this time, a hard fist connecting with his gut. He doubled over and Jefferson wanted to shout at him to shut up, to have an ounce of self-preservation.

“A hurricane is quite something to live through.”

“I fucking noticed.” Hamilton got another punch to the gut for that. Muscles 1 brought in a bucket of water and something under a blanket. Hamilton stared at it warily.

“I read what you wrote about it. Quite poetic. You talked a lot about the cold.” With that Leader put a hand on Hamilton’s collar. Hamilton glared at him. Leader smiled before ripping the shirt, pushing all of the buttons off. Hamilton gasped as his chest was suddenly revealed to the cold air.

“If you wanted me to strip could have just asked.” Hamilton was suddenly soaked as Muscles 1 poured the bucket of water of him. Jefferson could see the ice cubes inside. Hamilton choked for a moment on the cold and he started shaking. Jefferson watched him with a nervous expression. Hamilton had never been good with the cold, would always complain when the temperature dropped.

Hamilton’s hair was glued to his face and he was struggling again, this time to shift the frozen water from his lap. Leader ignored him as he walked to the blanket. Jefferson couldn’t quite see what it was but Hamilton could. He froze and took a deep breath.

By the time Leader turned back Hamilton’s face was blank. Leader was holding two sticks of metal that connected to a big box. Jefferson tried to see what it was but didn’t have time before a switch was flipped, the metal was pressed to Hamilton’s chest and then he was screaming.

Jefferson flinched at the sound. He’d never heard Hamilton raise his voice for anything other than their arguments.

When Hamilton’s screaming died down he was slumped in the chair, breathing heavily.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“You haven’t fucking asked anything yet.” Hamilton hissed out.

“Give me the details of the aircraft carriers near our waters.”

“Fuck you.” Hamilton spat out. The next second he was screaming again. This time it felt like it went on for a lifetime.

“Stop it!” Jefferson cried out. Leader pulled back and turned to him. Hamilton shook his head.

“Would you like to swap seats?”

“Jefferson’s never-” Hamilton was cut off as the metal was pressed back to him. He whimpered as he bit down on his lip. Blood began to trickle down his chin.

“We don’t know any of that. We’re the Secretaries. We’re not-”

Hamilton started to scream again. Jefferson broke off.

“Don’t lie to me Jefferson.”

“He can’t do anything else.” Hamilton spat out along with a mouthful of blood. Jefferson stared at it in horror. Leader stepped towards the box which Jefferson now realised was a car battery. He turned a dial and fear flickered over Hamilton’s face.

“I’m going to ask you one more time.”

“Fuck you.”

Hamilton passed out to the sound of his own screams.

 

“Alexander!” Jefferson hissed, kicking at Hamilton’s leg. Hamilton slowly opened his eyes. “Alexander!”

“Wha-” Hamilton frowned as he saw Jefferson. He actually looked worried.

“You passed out.”

“From wha-?”

“From them electrocuting you!”

“Oh yeah.” Hamilton frowned and looked down at his chest. There were several ugly burn marks which couldn’t be covered by the damp rags which had been his shirt. “Fucking ruined this.”

“Take this seriously!” Jefferson snapped out. Hamilton glanced at him before nodding.

“What do you want me to do Jefferson? I can either keep on protecting you or we can both get fucked up.”

“You don’t have to fucking protect me.”

“I do. You’re a civilian.”

“So are you if you hadn’t noticed! All that bullshit about the army- you joined too young?”

“By a year.”

“So you went through this training when you weren’t old enough to do it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Really? You just passed out from the amount of electricity they shoved into you.”

“They’re sloppy. Aren’t even threatening you.” Hamilton closed his eyes and let his head rest against the wall. His chest did hurt and there was a burn in his veins that ached.

“Why would they do that?”

“It’s easier to play off someone else’s emotions. So if they hurt you and asked me the questions.”

“Wil they do that?”

“Probably not. I’ve told them enough times how much I hate you. If they think we don’t have a connection then it won’t matter.”

“So do we just wait?”

“If they do it. You can’t say anything. You can’t say _anything_.”

“I know that.”

“No. If they kill me then you can’t say anything.” Hamilton fixed Jefferson with his eyes. “If you think they’re about to kill me then you accept it. You do not release any secrets. I don’t care if you think they’re nothing. If you say anything then they’ve got a way in.”

“And I guess it’s the same for me?”

“Yeah. America is more than either of us. If we die protecting a secret then at least we’ve done something. Anyway, even if we did reveal something, chances are they’d kill us anyway.”

“So we can’t do anything?”

“We wait. We wait for Washington.”

“And if he doesn’t come?” Jefferson asked softly. Hamilton’s response took a long time.

“He will.” The certainty was gone.

 

The next time the men came in they grabbed Hamilton with no preamble. Hamilton struggled against them and Jefferson shouted but it didn’t stop anything. Hamilton glanced at Jefferson as he was led away and Jefferson nodded.

America’s secrets were her own.

Jefferson was then left on his own for what felt like years. At random intervals someone would come into the room with water and food. On the third time it happened Jefferson noticed blood on the man’s bruised knuckles. His appetite vanished.

No-one bothered to come into his room. It was painful to be left alone, as if everyone had vanished, as if he was the sole survivor of some terrible event. He tried to sleep the time away but there was only so much time he could spend unconscious until his body woke him up.

At some point they unlocked his hands. He moved them experimentally and winced at how painful it was. There were cuts and bruises circling his wrists from where they’d cut into his skin.

“Where’s Hamilton?” Jefferson was surprised at how raspy his voice was. He coughed before repeating the question. Short didn’t respond. He just left the room. Jefferson stared after him before he sighed. This was all going to shit.

It had been a diplomatic mission. It had been a mission that was nothing. They had to go to Egypt, shake a few hands and then leave. There was no danger, no chance of danger. Somehow it had descended into this fuck up.

When Hamilton finally came back Jefferson barely noticed it. He thought it would be someone with more food. Then he heard three set of footsteps. He opened his eyes just in time to see Hamilton thrown down the stairs. Their captors didn’t bother to chain him up and Jefferson could see why in an instant.

Hamilton’s clothes were ragged and dirty. His face and fingers were covered in half dried blood. His legs looked wrong as he held them at the wrong angle. As he tried to move his left shoulder wouldn’t respond. It was swollen and his arm hung limply. Great clumps of his hair were gone, as if they’d been ripped out by hands holding them too hard.

“Holy shit.” Jefferson breathed out. Hamilton smiled at that.

“Hey.” His voice was barely audible. He’d worn it out with screaming. Hamilton carefully pushed himself up against the wall and leant his head back.

“What the fuck did they do to you?”

“Everything.”

“Hamilton this is-”

“Repairable.” Hamilton muttered. “Ev-everything. Repairable.” He raised his right hand to his left shoulder and whined slightly.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Dunno. Fell asleep with it fine. Woke and it was fucked.”

“Is it dislocated?”

“Probably.” Hamilton closed his eyes and groaned slightly. “Really know how to fuck someone up.”

“I thought you said they were sloppy.”

“They are.”

“Did you-” Jefferson paused. Hamilton opened one eyes.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Fuck.”

“They’re gonna do this to you. Gotta be strong J’ffson.”

“Yeah.” Jefferson cursed again and Hamilton smiled.

“I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Okay.” Jefferson made sure to lower his voice. “You do that.” Hamilton nodded before his head drooped onto his chest and his breathing slowed. Jefferson kept watch over him as the hours increased.

He hadn’t thought that Hamilton could be this strong. He hadn’t thought enough of Hamilton evidently. Hamilton had just been tortured and he was still trying to make jokes. Jefferson settled back against the wall. He was going to keep watch until Hamilton woke up, it seemed to be the least he could do.

He had no real way of measuring time but he knew it had been a long time when Hamilton finally stirred.

“They back?”

“Not yet.”

“Might give us time.”

“And if they don’t?”

“We’re fucked.”

“I thought we were anyway.”

Hamilton let out a gurgle of a laugh at that. He smiled at Jefferson through the mess that was his face.

“You can be funny.”

“Is it the end of days? Did Alexander Hamilton just compliment me?”

“Still a dick.”

Hamilton shifted slightly and hissed in pain as it jostled everything.

“Hamilton, if your shoulder is dislocated you need to set it. The longer it goes without relocation the more likely it is to cause nerve damage.”

“How the fuck do I do that?”

“Can you get to where I am?”

Hamilton raised an eyebrow at that and Jefferson nodded. He began to manoeuvre himself as far as the chains would let him. He managed to get within touching distance of Hamilton after several long minutes. Hamilton stared at him blankly.

“This is going to hurt.” Jefferson warned.

“Welcome to the party.”

Jefferson nodded before he started to feel Hamilton’s shoulder. He could feel that the joint was dislocated. He slowly pulled it out but paused as Hamilton groaned in pain.

“Just do it Jefferson.”

“It will-”

“Fucking do it.” Hamilton snapped out.

“Relax.”

Jefferson began to manoeuvre the joint before he pushed it back in. Hamilton let out a grunt of pain before he collapsed backwards. Jefferson began to take his shirt off. Hamilton frowned at him.

“It’s better if there’s a sling.”

“Use mine.” Hamilton shifted slightly and Jefferson slowly took off the rest of Hamilton’s shirt. As he did he saw more of the bruises and hissed in a breath. There was large black bruises over several of Hamilton’s ribs.

“These are-”

“Broken.” Hamilton nodded. “I know. So’s my leg.”

Jefferson looked down at his leg and cursed.

“Fucking hell Hamilton! What-”

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Hamilton-”

“You won’t _need_ to know, alright? Washington will be here.”

Jefferson sighed.

“He needs to get here quickly Hamilton.”

“He’ll be here.” Hamilton’s voice wavered and he sounded as if he was about to start sobbing. Neither of them said anything else.

 

The two had five more meals before anyone interrupted them. When they did it was sudden. Leader, Short, Muscles 1 and 2 stormed into the room. Short was holding a camera while Muscles 1 and 2 were carrying electrical equipment. Hamilton tensed a tiny bit as he saw the electrics, terrified of what he’d already been through.

However they didn’t seem to have any intention of doing that again. Muscles 1 dragged Hamilton up. Hamilton could barely fight back but he tried. Muscles 1 punched him across the face and Hamilton all but collapsed.

He was led to the chair and secured into it. He was staring straight down the camera. He looked a mess but there was nothing he could do to fix that. The camera was far enough away that most of his torso was in the shot, including the bruised shoulder from the messy setting Jefferson had tried.

A red light appeared on the camera and Hamilton glared at it.

“Tell us where the aircraft carriers are.”

“Starts with fuck. Ends with off.” Hamilton muttered out. Muscles 1 punched him in the gut and he doubled over.

“Tell us troop movement across the Mexico border.”

“Fuck off.” Muscles 2 got a blow in that time, punching him in the face.

“You’re a writer aren’t you? Or were before you were hired by Washington.” Hamilton didn’t grace that with an answer, just glared up at the man. Leader pulled out a knife. Hamilton tracked its movements as it came to rest on top of his index finger, at the knuckle just above his hand.

“I’m not going to ask you again.”

“You probably will.”

At that Leader pushed the knife down and Hamilton let out a scream. Leader pulled the knife down to the second knuckle before releasing it. Blood began to drip down Hamilton’s hand and he took in deep shuddering breaths.

“Who is Washington going to elect as his Secretary of the Treasury when you don’t come back?”

“It’s not something we fucking discussed.” Hamilton lied. He let out a strange grunt from behind closed lips as Leader cut deeply into his second finger. The blood was dripping onto the floor and pooling. Leader repeated the process on his third finger.

“Every question you don’t answer you get two cuts. You only have so many fingers Hamilton.”

“Well noticed.” Hamilton spat out. His other hand was gripping the chair so tightly it was turning white. He wasn’t used to this agony, no matter what he’d told Jefferson.

“Who is Washington’s biggest donor?”

“Fuck off.”

Leader cut even deeper this time and the blood began to pour down. Hamilton threw his head back and screamed.

“What is the White House’s stance on disclosing conflicts of interest?”

“Go fuck yourself.” Hamilton was breathless but he still glared at the man.

Leader stared at him for a long moment before he placed the knife a knuckle further. Hamilton bit into his lip and whimpered as two more sections of his hand was shredded.

“Do you not care about this? Do you think this is a joke?”

“I think you’re a joke.” This time it was three cuts and Hamilton felt tears appear in his eyes. He willed them back. He was angry. He had to stay angry. He didn’t want to feel the pain, not yet. He’d have time later. He could think about how the skin had split, about how any movement was going to make them ache. He could worry about nerve damage later.

“What are the President’s plans for my country?”

“I don’t give a shit.”

It continued until Hamilton’s fingers were nothing more than blood soaked messes. His eyes were beginning to flutter from blood loss and the sheer pain but he didn’t let himself collapse. He had to stay strong. They were recording this for a reason. He didn’t know what but he knew it was something. Jefferson was staring at him in horror but Hamilton kept his word, he didn’t say a thing.

“Two last questions,” Leader grabbed Hamilton’s throat and forced him to stare at him, “first,” he pulled a gun from his jacket. Hamilton stared at it and took a long breath, “how attached are you to your legs?”

“Had ‘em a long time.” Hamilton wheezed.

“Second question.” Leader continued as if Hamilton hadn’t spoken. “What is the bill you plan to push through congress about the budget for war?” Hamilton stared at him for a long moment. Leader cocked the gun and Hamilton gasped slightly. The cold metal pressed against his head and he let out a whimper. He was entirely at the mercy of Leader, the man held Hamilton’s life in his hands, in the pull of a trigger.

“Wait.” Hamilton whispered out. Jefferson’s head snapped up.

“Hamilton you can’t-” Before Jefferson could finish speaking he was punched across the face. He watched in horror as Hamilton slowly stared up at Leader.

“Tell me.”

“Section one. All-” Hamilton took a deep breath as he committed to what he was about to do, “all legislative powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.”

“What?” Leader spat out but Hamilton continued.

“Section two.  The house of Representatives shall be composed of Members chosen every second year by the people of the several states, and the-” Hamilton was cut off by a punch to the face but he did nothing, “electors in each state shall have the qualifications-” Hamilton was hit again, in the gut this time, “requisite for electors,” Hamilton’s mouth was bleeding and blood dribbled down his chin, “of the most numerous branch of the state legislature.”

“Shut up!” Leader shouted. Hamilton just smirked at him from behind bruised eyes and a bleeding mouth.

“No person shall be a representative who shall not have attained to the age-” Hamilton caught three punches to his face which made his head drop but didn’t stop his words, “of twenty five years and been seven years a citizen-” Hamilton broke off with an ear piercing scream as a gunshot echoed in the room. Muscles 1 un-cuffed him and he fell to the ground. He was kicked in the side but he kept mumbling the words of the Constitution.

It was only when Muscles 2 caught Hamilton in the head that he fell both silent and unconscious.

Jefferson stared at the blood pooling around Hamilton in horror. Then he was being lifted and shoved into the seat. He glared defiantly at Leader and was rewarded with a punch.

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“You’re going to tell us fucking everything!” Leader screamed as he closed his hands around Jefferson’s throat. Jefferson gasped for air and began scrambling at Leader’s hands. When Leader finally released him Jefferson collapsed back into the chair. He glanced at the camera before he stared back at Leader.

Leader snarled before grabbing for the knife again. Jefferson refused to let the fear show on his face. Leader cut his shirt open and began slashing. Jefferson whimpered and then shouted as Leader sliced deeply into his chest.

“This is just the fucking beginning.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Jefferson replied. Leader responded by stabbing the scalpel like knife into Jefferson’s side. Jefferson let out a scream as Leader removed the knife and blood began pouring from his side.

“Tell me the troop movement!”

“No!”

Leader began to slash wildly again before he paused. He raised the knife to Jefferson’s face. Jefferson took a deep breath as Leader traced along his cheekbones. Jefferson was shocked as the blade was ripped down from the top of his cheekbone to his chin. It split his top lip and he felt his mouth fill with blood but as soon as he could he was staring back at Leader.

“Fucking talk!”

“No.” Jefferson paused before he looked up at the man. He spat and saw, as if he was detached, that most of it was blood.

Leader pulled out the gun and Jefferson felt his heart skip a beat. He closed his eyes.

A shot rang out.

Jefferson waited for the pain but it never came. Instead there were shouts in the corridor and his captors stared at the door. Leader started as the door slammed open to reveal men with assault rifles in full protective gear.

Jefferson had a couple of seconds to understand what was happening before it felt like someone had kicked his in the chest. He doubled over with a shout of pain as gunshots exploded around him. Jefferson stared down and frowned as he saw a gap where there should be skin.

A circular hole had appeared in his chest and blood was pouring from it. He stared at it in confusion before he realised that the amount of blood he was losing definitely counted as too much. His head started to get fuzzy and he frowned.

Jefferson slumped to the side as the men ran to him.

The last thought Jefferson had was that Washington had done it; Washington had saved them.


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson is coping perfectly well with what happened to him. Until he isn't.

When Hamilton woke, it was to the sound of Washington’s voice. Hamilton opened an eye in confusion before what had just happened hit him like a truck. He sat bolt upright before yelping in pain.

“Lie down son.” Washington’s hands were on Hamilton’s shoulders and Hamilton slowly laid back.

“Sir?” Hamilton croaked out. Washington nodded.

“I’m here Alexander.”

“Jefferson?”

“He’s in surgery right now. You need to rest. You suffered-”

“Why’s he there?”

“After you fell unconscious Jefferson was tortured and shot. It punctured his lung and grazed his heart. He’s been in surgery for the last twelve hours.”

“Will he make it?”

“It looks good.”

“Okay.” Hamilton laid his head back down. “I knew you’d come sir. I- I knew you’d be there.” Washington looked old at those words, old and tired. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again. He offered a weak smile.

“You should get some sleep son.”

Hamilton nodded and slipped off within seconds.

 

When Hamilton next woke up he was a bit more alert. The first thing he looked at were his fingers. There were stitches all the way up them. He flexed them and hissed in pain.

“They told you not to do that.”

Hamilton jumped slightly at the voice. He turned to the side to see Hercules sitting there. Hercules looked a mess. His eyes were hooded and he looked exhausted.

“Herc.” Hamilton’s voice was raspy and Hercules winced.

“Laf and John went to get some food.”

“Jeff’son?”

“He’s out of theatre. Going to be a lot of recovery but,” Hercules shrugged, “that was always going to happen.”

“’M I okay?”

“Well,” Hercules sighed, “your fingers are cut to ribbons, your shoulder was dislocated then shoddily reset, the injuries in your back got infected, you broke your nose, you broke your legs and you got shot.”

“Normal day?”

“Alexander this isn’t a joke!” Hercules shifted forwards. “We saw what you did. It was reckless and-”

“Saw it?”

“When you were rescued, the camera was recovered. Washington suggested that we watch it while we were worried about you dying. Don’t get me started on how Laf reacted to it. We watched what you did Alexander you-”

“Didn’t say anything.”

“Somebody threatened you with a gun and you recited the constitution!”

“Funny.” Hamilton smiled and Hercules scowled at him.

“It could have got you killed Alex.”

“Didn’t.”

“Because you got lucky. If the team had been delayed for another five minutes you could have bled out.”

“Jefferson’s civilian.”

“You’re not a soldier Alexander. You haven’t been for years.”

“Knew torture though.”

“That doesn’t mean that you should have antagonised them! You-”

Before Hercules could continue his lecture John and Lafayette walked into the room. They both gaped in amazement to see Hamilton. He smiled at them and raised his hand to wave before he hissed in pain.

“Don’t move them.” John said as he rushed to Hamilton. “They’re deep cuts and they’re not sure how much nerve damage was done.”

“Petit lion you-” Lafayette broke off.

“It’s okay Laf. I’m here now. I’m safe.”

“Mon ami.” Lafayette began to cry and he walked towards Hamilton’s bed. He carefully draped his arms around the smaller man.

“I’m here Laf.” Hamilton wanted to pat Lafayette on the back but the ache in his fingers stopped that. “Nothing will happen now.”

“Mon ami- I- I have just visited Thomas. It is so worrying.”

“Is he okay?”

“Oui. But he has not yet awoken. He looks hellish. As if- as if he shall not. The doctors tell me he shall but fine but-” Lafayette shuddered. Hercules put a hand on his back.

“He’ll be okay. Thomas Jefferson is harder to kill than a cockroach.”

“What’re they thinking for me?” The silence in the room said everything Hamilton needed to know. “Well, that doesn’t sound great.”

“The damage to your legs was extensive.” John sighed. “The broken bones started to heal in the wrong position. The bullet wound will take a while to fix but it shouldn’t be too bad. You’ll need physical therapy. It’s the same for your fingers. You can’t move them until they’re fixed.”

“How long will that take?”

“A long time.”

“So I finally got out of being tortured and I get dumped in a hospital?”

“Mon ami, if you did anything else then you may never fully recover.”

“I know it’s just…”

“You’ll get better Alex. It’ll be a long process but you will.”

“Everything’s repairable.” Hamilton muttered. None of them asked what it meant. “So what happened while I was gone?” The three glanced at each other for a moment, as if they genuinely had no idea. Lafayette was the first to speak.

“Ooh! Eliza finally proposed to Maria!”

Hamilton smiled as the three caught him up on what had happened. It was relaxing in a way, to understand that the world kept spinning even when he’d been fighting for his life in a torture dungeon.

 

It took another two weeks until Jefferson and Hamilton saw each other again. There had been a complication with Jefferson’s surgery which meant he was bedridden for longer. Hamilton was incapable of moving under his own steam with a wheelchair yet hated someone else pushing it for him.

Jefferson walked into Hamilton’s room and took a seat beside him. Hamilton still looked a mess. His hair was slowly growing back in lumpy patches. Jefferson had no idea why he hadn’t just cut it all off. There were deep cuts fading to scars across Hamilton’s chest, areas his clothing didn’t always cover.

Hamilton was asleep and there was something more relaxed about him. Jefferson smiled at that, he would hope Hamilton was more relaxed than the last time they saw each other. Jefferson’s gaze travelled over to Hamilton’s leg. They were both in plaster but one of them had a bandage above the plaster. The gunshot.

“You know,” Hamilton’s voice shocked Jefferson, “if you wanted to stare at me you had plenty of time to do that when I was tied up.”

“I trust you feel better then.”

“Than when we last met? Yeah.” Hamilton leaned back and frowned. “Don’t mean it doesn’t still hurt.”

“Your morphine?”

“Trying to wean me off it. They think I’ll be able to go home soon.”

“I’m going home today actually.”

“Lucky you.” Hamilton pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced at Jefferson. He frowned as he saw the deep cut across his cheek. “Wha-”

“After you passed out. Leader went a bit mad.”

“Leader?”

“The one in charge.”

“You gave them names?” Hamilton’s voice dripped with derision and Jefferson shrugged. “What else did they do?”

“Cut up my chest and stabbed me. Then he shot me in the chest.”

“All he did to me was shoot me in the leg.” Hamilton grinned but Jefferson didn’t copy the expression. “What is it?”

“I’ve never been that close to death before Hamilton. It- it’s not easy.”

“Get a therapist. Seriously. It’ll be annoying and embarrassing but they’ll help you.”

“Yeah.” Jefferson stood with a sigh. “Washington won’t let you go back to work for a while.”

“It’s not like I can do it anyway.”

“What?”

Hamilton extended his hands and Jefferson blinked in surprise. The stitches hadn’t come out and the wounds were ugly. They hadn’t been cut cleanly and some of them were crooked, the stitches making them look worse. Around the wrists there were deep cuts from where the handcuffs must have bit in at some horrific point of his capture.

“Everyone here has told me that if I type or write I might rip them open. I can barely move my wheelchair. I'll be working from home with a Dictaphone until they fully heal up.”

“How long will that be?”

“No-one’ll tell me.”

“God Hamilton I’m so-”

“I did this.” Hamilton spoke over Jefferson. “I chose to do this, not you. I decided to not give up secrets. I chose to stay loyal to my country. This isn’t your fault Jefferson.”

“I couldn’t have done it. I couldn’t have protected you if this was-” Jefferson shuddered.

“You will never have to. Go home Jefferson. Go back to work and make sure you find some way to cope.”

“This, coming from you? How many times has Burr or Washington had to haul you away from your office?”

“There I was trying to be a good person. Just-” Hamilton sighed. “This wasn’t your fault Jefferson. Go find whose fault it was. Give them hell for me. For us.”

 

 

Jefferson didn’t like being in his house alone. It felt empty. It had always been too big and too quiet. Now it felt like the shadows were watching, as if there was something waiting to pounce on him. It became more and more difficult to sleep until he just gave up and turned to coffee and napping out at random times.

Madison had been fixing him with worried looks over it but everyone was. The cut on his cheek seemed intent on scarring over and taking the longest time to do so. If he didn’t wear a tie some of the lower cuts could be seen and if he stretched could see the ones just above the top of his pants. The scars on his wrists were almost always on show and none of his clothes fit him from how much weight he’d lost.

Whenever any evidence of his capture was on show people gawked at them. After a week of being at work Jefferson started sending out his secretary to collect food. At least Maria didn’t stare anymore. She had on the first day but then she had encased him in a hug so tight he thought they might become one.

He knew she had a history of bad relationships and he knew that the last one had ended with the police and a restraining order. She understood some of it at least. Not enough, there was only one person who did, but some at least.

When Hamilton came back to work Jefferson didn’t know what to do. He wanted to talk to the man, wanted to explode with questions and answers and words that he didn’t even have. He wanted to know how Hamilton kept it together.

He wanted to know how he should pull through, how he should return to normal life after knowing he was one flick of a finger from dying. He wanted to know how to stop the nightmares and the images that popped up every time he closed his eyes; images of blood and death that didn’t let him pause, not for an instant. Jefferson wanted to ask Hamilton so much, he had so much he had to know.

Jefferson walked past Hamilton’s office every day and heard Hamilton dictating to his secretary. Jefferson tried to convince himself it was the same thing.

 

Everything was going fine. (Everything _had_ to be going fine.) Then there was a report of a pilot. A pilot had crash-landed somewhere in Russia on a mission that needed code word clearance to access. Washington pulled Hamilton and Jefferson in as he always did. This time he did it reluctantly.

It didn’t seem to phase Hamilton as he wheeled into the room. Jefferson stood at the edge of the room and just stared at the pilot’s face. He was young, too young to die.

“Jefferson?” Washington asked. Jefferson looked to him and nodded.

“Pardon?”

“As Secretary of State I need you to work on the diplomatic side of this. Try to find out who did this before we need to send anyone in.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, we’re done here then. Jefferson, Hamilton, can I have a word?” The rest of the room trickled out, leaving the three of them. Jefferson stepped forwards but Washington just gestured to a seat.

“Can I ask what this is about sir?” Hamilton asked as he moved into place.

“I understand that this might be a tricky subject for the two of you.” Washington glanced at Hamilton’s fingers which were laying in his lap. The stitches were gone but the cuts remained, crooked and ugly. He’d have them for the rest of his life. “So I wanted to say, if you are not capable of this then say it. There will be people who can take over from you if needs be.”

“That will not be necessary sir.” Hamilton said. Jefferson nodded as well.

“Well then go find this boy. Before something else happens to him.”

The two left the room and Jefferson paused. Hamilton noticed he had stopped and turned.

“Is something wrong?” Hamilton asked, frowning at Jefferson.

Yes. Yes of course there is, Jefferson wanted to scream. We were kidnapped. We were beaten and tortured. We’re physically and obviously scarred for life. There was no risk and yet we nearly died. We were shot and if it had been five minutes later we’d be dead. You seem to not understand, you seem to have accepted it!

“No, Mr Secretary.”

“Good. If there is a problem, any problem, I’ll be in my office.”

“Okay.”

Jefferson went back to his office and sat down. The soldier’s face stared at him from his mind. He could be anywhere. He could be dead already. He could have been captured. He could be-

Jefferson felt his breath speed up and he pulled his tie loose. He undid two of the buttons and ignored how his fingers scraped over the scars. He was going to be fine. They would find the soldier. They would save him long before anything happened.

_Washington would find them._

“Thomas?” Jefferson looked up as his name was called. Very few people called him that. Madison stood in the doorway and Jefferson gestured him in. He took a steadying breath and smiled weakly.

“James! Is there something I can do for you?”

Madison glanced to Jefferson’s neck and Jefferson looked away. His tie was on the desk next to him which meant there were several cuts visible to his friend.

“James, if you spend all the time staring at them I _am_ going to get jealous.”

“Sorry.” Madison muttered. Jefferson shrugged. “Thomas, I’m worried about you.”

“No welcome?”

“Thomas, when was the last time you went home?”

“Yesterday.”

“Thomas…”

“I don’t have time alright?” Jefferson snapped out. Madison stared at him.

“Thomas, if something is wrong-”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Thomas-”

“Nothing is wrong!” Jefferson wasn’t even sure when he’d stood up but he was on his feet. Madison took a step back and stared at him. “I’m sorry I-”

“Thomas, if your work is getting in the way of your health-”

“It’s not. I- this lets me not think about what happened.”

“Is that healthy?”

“Hell if I know.”

“If it gets worse talk to me Thomas. Please.”

“Okay. I promise.” The lie tasted foul on his tongue but it was sweet enough for Madison’s ears.

 

When night rolled around Jefferson decided to go home. It was empty and too quiet but it was still home.

His dreams were filled with blood, with pain and the cold, empty eyes of Hamilton staring at him, as if to say it was his fault. Jefferson wanted to scream back that it wasn’t, it had never been. It was a mistake.

The dead eyes never had anything to say to that.

Jefferson woke at three in the morning after two hours sleep. He got changed. He didn’t do it in front of the mirror anymore. He couldn’t stand seeing the star like scar of where the bullet had hit. He couldn’t stand to see any of his chest anymore.

Showers were the only way of cleaning himself. He didn’t have to look down at the mess his body had become. He hadn’t dared look what Hamilton had come out with. Mirrors hurt as he saw the deep scar across his cheek.

He hated his body, had ever since he’d woken up in hospital.

Hamilton didn’t seem to be phased by it. In the few conversations they’d had Hamilton didn’t stare at Jefferson’s scars. He didn’t even seem to care about his own injuries. He didn’t wear gloves or use crutches. Jefferson wished he could be that strong.

The work day was long and painful. He spent most of it calling different dignitaries’ offices and waiting for responses. The face of the soldier stared at him every time he closed his eyes, even if only for a second. It pushed him into working in a way he hadn’t in a long time.

Maria would knock on the door occasionally with a coffee or meal but apart from that Jefferson didn’t look up from his work.

The call came in at half past midnight.

Maria walked into his office and told him he had to go to the Oval Office. Jefferson nodded and stood. He grabbed his tie and began to tie it as he walked.

When he walked into the room his stomach dropped. Washington was sat at his desk. The Generals were stood around him and Hamilton was frowning.

“Jefferson.” Washington nodded to him. “Now that we’re all here. I wish I had better news. Unfortunately the pilot, Jaune Fayad was captured. We have recovered his body. It shall be sent to his parents-”

“He’s dead? You said he was captured.” Jefferson interrupted Washington who frowned.

“Son, his captors killed him.”

Jefferson nodded numbly as Washington continued. The words faded into one until they faded into white noise. There was nothing Jefferson could hear, nothing he could understand. The pilot was dead. The pilot had been kidnapped and had been killed. Jefferson had been-

“Son,” Jefferson jumped slightly as Washington laid a hand on his shoulder. Jefferson looked around to see that the room was empty, “Go home Thomas.”

“But sir-”

“That is an order from your commander. Go home.”

“Yes sir.” Jefferson walked to the door and paused as Washington spoke.

“Thomas, we did everything we could for him.”

“I know sir. It just wasn’t enough.”

 

Monticello seemed particularly empty that night. The shadows were everywhere. _They_ were everywhere.

Jefferson hunched in on himself as his breath quickened. What if they were in the building?

Jefferson sat bolt upright and stood, staring around wildly. What if they were coming for him again? The rational part of Jefferson fought for control. They can’t be here. They’re dead. He saw them die. Their blood sprayed onto him. He saw their eyes as they-

Jefferson didn’t even realise he was in the bathroom until he was vomiting into the toilet bowl. He stared down before leaning against the wall. He felt tears spring to his eyes. Was this what it was like surviving? Was it terror every day? Was it terror in every fucking second?

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to think. He wanted the world to stop, just for a bit.

He wanted to stop seeing the soldier he couldn’t save.

One of the good things about having old money was that it could buy a shitton of alcohol. Jefferson stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle which had been chilling in the fridge since before he was taken.

He poured the first drink into a glass.

He poured the second drink into a glass.

He poured the third drink into his mouth.

He set the empty bottle aside.

He picked up a new bottle.

 

When the next morning rolled around Jefferson didn’t have the strength to pull himself out of the bottle. He called in sick as he walked to get another bottle.

The next morning he did the same thing. He’d started throwing up at some point but he couldn’t care, couldn’t afford to care.

He was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling when there were knocks on the door. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t be bothered. Then there was a click as the door opened anyway. It took his fuzzy brain too long to work out what that meant. When he had figure it out there were hands on him.

Jefferson yelped and pushed the person away as he shouted at them. The person fell backwards and stared at him.

“Get away from me! You can’t take me! I won’t go back there!”

“Thomas it’s me! Calm down!”

“Wha-” Jefferson looked around in confusion. “James?”

“Christ, how much have you had?”

“Don’t care.” Thomas lay down again.

“Thomas-”

“I don’t care.” Thomas’ voice was hard. “There’s no point anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“Drunk, sober, still crazy. There’s no-one here. They died. I’m not in that basement. Hamilton isn’t dead.”

“Have you been seeing these?”

“Yeah.” Jefferson whispered. “The soldier-”

“The soldier who was captured?”

“Yeah.”

“Hold still Thomas. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Please don’t go.” Jefferson grabbed Madison’s arm and Madison paused. “Please don’t leave me with them.”

“Fuck. Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Jefferson nodded and he felt the world spin around him. He wanted it to stop but he was pretty sure that if that happened the memories would come back.

“Thomas, how much have you drunk?”

“Lot.”

“How long have you been drinking?”

“Since I got home.”

“From work?”

“From the soldier.”

“Okay I’m getting you to hospital.”

Jefferson wanted to complain but the world was beginning to go black at the edges. He hoped the next time he woke up his captors wouldn’t be there.

 

When Jefferson did eventually wake up he felt like hell. Madison was asleep in the chair next to him. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry. Jefferson groaned and Madison looked up.

“Thomas, are you feeling better?”

“What happened?”

“You went on a two day binge.”

“Don’t sound like me.”

“Thomas this is serious!” Madison stood and Jefferson watched him with a frown. Madison didn’t get mad. Not really.

“Why?”

“Because you could have died! The amount of alcohol in your system means it’s almost a miracle that you didn’t. Are you suicidal?”

“Of course not.”

“Then try to explain this to me. Please.”

“It’s-” Jefferson sighed. “When I try to sleep I see them James. I- I remember them hurting Alexander and me. I remember the gunshot and I remember them dying on top of me. I- I can’t sleep.”

“Jesus Christ Thomas.” Madison sat back down and put his head in his hands. “Have you talked to a therapist?” Jefferson’s silence told Madison everything he needed to know. “This is dangerous Thomas. This isn’t a joke or something you can ignore. If it’s this difficult to sleep then you need professional help. You should get it anyway.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You sound like a child Thomas! You need it. This is serious.”

“Fine. I- I’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

 

The second time Jefferson felt his world spinning out of control was the day Hamilton collapsed in a meeting. They were shouting at each other again. Jefferson wasn’t even sure what they were debating, it just felt right. It felt right to have him there, to have him safe.

Hamilton had been out of the wheelchair for a week and was bounding everywhere. Jefferson would watch him with a faint smile on his face and wish his own recovery was that easy.

Jefferson stood and continued to shout. Hamilton did the same. Jefferson stepped forwards to come face to face with Hamilton. Suddenly his arms were full of the man as one of Hamilton’s legs buckled under his weight. Hamilton yelped but Jefferson supported him to the seat.

“What happened?” Jefferson asked softly. Hamilton shrugged. “That’s not an answer.”

“Hamilton?” Washington was on his feet and staring at the two. “Are you alright son?”

“Yes sir. I just- I guess my leg isn’t as strong as I thought it would be.”

“Well, don’t get into any more fighting contests with Jefferson and it should be fine.” Washington smiled and the meeting continued as if nothing had happened. Jefferson was silent as he ran over what could have happened. Was it the bullet wound or the broken bones? He needed to ask Hamilton. As Jefferson glanced at him he decided he’d do it as soon as the meeting ended, to save them both a bit of dignity.

When the moment came Jefferson paused before he walked in the opposite direction. He didn’t dare go home, it was still too empty. Instead he called Maria to bring him a bottle of whiskey. She didn’t ask. He wanted to invite her in, to indulge in this with someone else, but he knew that wouldn’t help him. He needed to get sozzled beyond all recognition.

Jefferson locked the door and took his tie off. He opened the bottle and poured a glass with a shaky hand.

After a few drinks his mind began to question things. He raised his hands to his shirt and unbuttoned it. It fell away to reveal the scars. There were so many of them.

Leader had gone to town on his skin and it looked like all of them had scarred over. The stab wound stood out sharply against the rest of his skin. He raised a shaky hand to the centre of his ribs.

It had hit the lungs and had scraped the heart. It had almost killed him. The scar looked too small for that. It was a tiny scar from where a bullet had ripped his skin apart in pursuit of his life.

Jefferson smiled at that. He liked that analogy. As if his skin was what protected him, as if the scarred mess of what he had left represented the fucked up life he had left. It made sense a hell of a lot of sense.

A sob overtook him. His skin was marred from an event he had had no control over. He’d not been able to do anything. He had been told to do nothing by Hamilton and he had blindly obeyed. Because of him Hamilton took a gunshot wound to the leg. Because of him, Hamilton almost died.

He had been telling the truth to James at the hospital; he wasn’t suicidal. On days like that he wished he was.

A knock on the door startled him from his drunken stupor.

“Jefferson?” Hamilton’s voice called through the door. “I- can we talk?”

It’s Hamilton, a voice whispered in Jefferson’s ear, the man who you nearly killed. The man whose life you’ve ruined.

Jefferson sniffed and lay down on his couch. After a few moments he heard Hamilton walk away. Good, he thought, Hamilton was in danger as long as he was with Jefferson. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest.

That was probably just the bullet that should have pierced his heart.

 

The third time Jefferson tried to drink himself into oblivion it was his own fault. It wasn’t a projection or seeing what his actions had wrought; it was just him.

He’d looked at his file. He’d requested the official rescue information from the secret service and it finally ended up on his desk. He poured a glass for himself as he sat at his table. As soon as he opened the folder he knew it had been a bad choice.

The men’s faces stared back at him, their eyes wide and staring. Jefferson felt his chest constrict and his breathing sped up. Those were the men who had nearly killed him, who had him at their mercy and he was only alive because-

Jefferson hit the table and took in a deep breath. He poured himself a new drink and stared off into nothing as his fist pushed his nails into the palm of his hand.

“They’re dead.” Jefferson whispered. “They’re all dead.”

He wasn’t sure of it until the bottle was half empty. He took another drink, for good luck.

The next day he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. The folder, that he did regret. As he’d become sober again, the memories of the men who had taken him pressed to the forefront of his brain. As he sat down for a breakfast he could barely stomach he knocked back a drink.

When he scraped half of the meal into the bin he reached for a water bottle and filled it with the closest bottle he had. He wouldn’t need it, he assured himself, he’d never needed alcohol. It just helped him.

As the day went on, the urge to drink grew and grew as every time he looked up he saw the folder on the side. By lunch the bottle was mostly empty and Jefferson’s mind was sufficiently numbed.

Then Jefferson fucked up.

He walked into the Oval Office drunk.

Jefferson knocked because a good Southern gentleman always does. It was the afternoon briefing so only Madison, Burr, Hamilton, Angelica, Laurens and Lafayette were there. Madison frowned the moment Jefferson walked in but once more he didn’t say anything. Jefferson took a seat and stared up at Washington.

“Good morning Jefferson.”

“Good morning sir.”

“Well, now that we’re all here I’d like to start. Hamilton?”

“The banks are holding for now sir. Our currency seems to be down against the Dow but I don’t think there’s anything to be worried about. It may-” Jefferson frowned. Hamilton was talking too much. He did that a lot. Jefferson looked down at his own notes and frowned as they swum in and out of focus.

“Jefferson? Jefferson?” Jefferson looked up to see Washington frowning at him. “Are you quite alright son?”

“Yeah.” Jefferson frowned at his papers again. “So…” Jefferson frowned before he turned the page the other way up. “Makes sense.” Jefferson mumbled. He didn’t spot the worried looks Madison and Lafayette swapped. “So we, uh,” Jefferson paused, “everything’s good?”

“Son,” Washington’s voice grew cold and he stood. He was an intimidating figure when he stood tall. Jefferson stared up at him in confusion, “Are you drunk?”

“Sir-” Madison started before Jefferson shrugged.

“’m not sure to be honest.”

“I’ve got him sir.” Hamilton muttered. He grabbed Jefferson’s arm and dragged him out of the room. Jefferson was still clutching his water bottle and Hamilton had barely noticed it. They walked to Hamilton’s office and Jefferson collapsed against the sofa. “What the fuck?”

“Wha?” Jefferson drawled out. He took another swig from the bottle. He’d nearly finished it. He didn’t really know how long it had been since he started it, didn’t really care. When the world was foggy he couldn’t feel the claws of the monsters.

“You’re drunk Jefferson! In the middle of the day!”

“Yeah.” Jefferson went to take another drink but Hamilton swiped it from him with an accusatory look. He sniffed it and twisted his face in disgust.

“Fucking hell!” Hamilton hissed. Jefferson just watched as he moved around the room. Hamilton walked to his door. “Eliza, can I get two bottles of water and some painkillers please? Yeah, if anything comes up tell Madison to take it. He’ll be okay with it.”

“James is always mad when you do that.” Jefferson let his head drop to the side. Hamilton frowned before he sat down next to Jefferson. He took Jefferson’s head in his hands and tilted it towards him. Jefferson stared at him.

“How’d you do it?”

“Not get drunk at work? I function like a fucking adult.” Hamilton went to drop Jefferson’s face but Jefferson caught his hand. Hamilton sucked in a breath before he noticed Jefferson was trailing a finger over the scars on his fingers.

“How’d you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“With being hurt.”

“The same way everyone does.”

“How _do_ they?”

Hamilton sighed. All the anger vanished from his face.

“You’re drunk so you don’t have to deal with it.”

“Yeah.” Jefferson continued to trace the scars until Hamilton pulled his hand away.

“Have you talked to your therapist about this?”

“No.”

“You do have a therapist, right?”

“Didn’t work out.”

“Didn’t- Thomas!”

“She wanted me to talk and I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Made it real.” Jefferson felt tears begin to trickle down his face. He reached for Hamilton’s hand again and began to trace the scars.

“It _was_ real. It _did_ happen. It won’t happen again.”

“Wasn’t meant to happen the first time.”

“Everyone who hurt us, all of those men who took us, are dead. They died Jefferson. They can’t hurt us.”

“I got blood on me.”

“What?”

“Got his blood on me. Didn’t realise I was shot. Thought it was him and I saw the blood. Thought we were safe.”

“We are.”

“We ain’t.”

“How long have you been drinking yourself into oblivion?”

“The pilot.”

“The one that was captured?” Hamilton asked softly. Jefferson nodded. “You were out sick after that. I- I was worried.”

“Went to hospital. James took me.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s not healthy.”

Jefferson laughed at that.

“You took every single hit for me in that room. You didn’t let me get hurt. You took a bullet for me. You fucked up your hands for me. You could have given them any information but you didn’t. You-”

“You’re right. I don’t have a good sense of self preservation. I did that because it wasn’t my first time.”

“Wha?”

“When I was in the army there was a reason I was discharged. My squad was captured and we were hurt until we broke out. I watched good men die around me. I saw Laurens nearly die. I thought that there was no way I could survive a second time. I’d given up in that room and I couldn’t let you give up as well.”

“So why’re you happy?”

“I’m not. I’m having nightmares. I’m having flashbacks and I want to self-destruct so badly but I know that won’t help. I’m living on borrowed time from the people who sacrificed themselves for me. I can’t let that vanish. I have to do something with it.”

“What?”

“I- I don’t know.” Hamilton looked lost, looked fragile. Jefferson snorted at that. This was the man who, when tortured and broken, recited the Constitution to his kidnappers. He wasn’t this broken.

“You saved my life.”

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe I screwed up your life. Maybe I screwed up my life. It-”

“Why’d you screw up your life?” Jefferson mumbled. Hamilton frowned for a moment before he stuck his hands out.

“I still can’t write. Can only type for a bit until they feel like they’re going to split open again. Doctors say it’ll all fix up eventually.”

“You shouldn’t-”

“I made my choices Jefferson. I made my choices to save you and to pay back what other people have done for me. You need to make a decision as well.”

“What?”

“Drink yourself to the bottom of a bottle or get help. Die a drunkard or live as a recovering alcoholic.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“Dying is easy. Living is harder.”

“I don’t know how to.” Jefferson’s voice was soft. He didn’t know how to live, how to survive after he had fought so hard to stay alive. This world was so different to the one he’d lived in before he was captured.

“I know. I know you’re new to this. I get that this isn’t easy to ask for help or to expect people could give it to you. We’ll sort that. We’ll sort all of it. Together.”

“Thought you hated me.”

“I hate your policies. I think you’re a stuck up, pretentious prick. I don’t hate you as a person.”

“Stunning praise.”

“Get some sleep Thomas.” Hamilton smiled as he stood. “We’ll talk more when you wake up.”

When Jefferson closed his eyes all he saw was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I might write another chapter for this but I don't know.  
> See you next time!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't do character death.


End file.
